“Wait, wait, I’m not a reporter!” The man threw open his door, squeezing through the narrow distance between their vehicles. It wasn’t easy for him, his husky build revealed in the tightness of his custom-made suit. A brilliant red pocket square practically glowed in the faint morning light.
“I swear to God, I am not a reporter.” For a big guy he moved fast, resting his hand on the soft top of the Jeep.
William clenched his jaw. He had to get in the trailer and grab the essentials and his stash of cash or he wouldn’t be able to even afford the gas to get out of town.
“I hate the media, they’re always on my ass too,” the man continued.
He couldn’t drive around the guy, and this was the closest he could get without being spotted. He looked over at the fields to his right and climbed over his stick shift, slipping out the opening on the other side.
“Hey William, seriously, I’m here to help. I’m a fan of your grandmother. I know she was telling the truth. The media can be a real pain, I know all about it. I’ll show you how to get past them—”
“I know how,” William said, jogging into the nearest row of cotton.
“Dude, these shoes are Italian leather! I’ll bust my pants trying to keep up if you’re gonna run like that!”
Exactly.
There was no doubt who the guy was, or at least which camp he fell into. The ones who sent his family bushels of letters; showed up at his high school soccer games, taking selfies as he walked by; stopped him in grocery stores and whispered, “I believe too.”
They were the same people now standing outside the trailer with homemade cardboard signs. If history repeated itself, many would be teenage girls, raised on a steady diet of his pictures in memes.
“You’re basically a reality star who doesn’t have a reality show or any discernable talents,” his brothers liked to joke. “Famous for being famous.”
He almost halted at the realization that Brian and Greg could be in the crowd, maybe even with their parents. All would be in the van with tinted windows they bought years ago, baseball caps pulled low, so as not to be recognized themselves. At the first sign of him, they’d practically burst into the trailer, regardless of how the media would swarm around them.
They wouldn’t bring Nanna and Roxy, though, as much as they’d want to come. That would be the equivalent of pouring gasoline on what promised to be a media dumpster fire.
Please let his family either be disconnected or completely unaware. Even if they wake up to the news, it was still at least a five-hour drive from Nashville. He had to get in, get out, and be long gone before they would arrive.
He rushed at a crouch. The cotton stretched to six feet, but he could still clear it with his height. He started moving through the rows, doing his best not to make the stalks completely shake. It was not out of the question to suspect that drones would be launched at daylight. He once opened his dorm room window only to hear the buzzing of a tricopter hovering outside.
It meant passing through row after row, holding the shafts to keep them from quivering too much, even if it meant scrapes from the bolls.
He finally emerged at the edge of the yard, where he could see the frame of the trailer outlined by the lights of the cameras. The farmer from whom he rented the place dumped it among the crops intentionally; he’d told his wife he needed a place for him and his workers to cool off in the worst of the summer heat. In reality, he’d moved his girlfriend in for lunchtime visits, until his wife one day showed up with Chinese takeout. Needing to make some extra money to pay alimony, he’d advertised for a renter.
The photographers’ lights were focused on the front of the trailer, leaving enough darkness in the back for him to slip through to reach the back door.
William fumbled with his keys, thankful for the landlord’s lack of interest in providing security or outdoor lighting.
He quietly closed the door and turned around to see a small shape sitting on the couch.
The lights from outside, set on stands to brighten the faces of the reporters preparing for the morning news, shone through the blinds to reveal a girl, her legs barely touching the floor. Her hair was done up in braids with white hair ties.
William gaped for a second. “How did you get in here?”
“Mr. Chance, please forgive the intrusion.”
He jumped at the woman’s voice. She stood up from where she was sitting on the edge of one of his mismatched chairs, thick round glasses pushed up to contain a mane of curly hair, wearing a dark vest with some kind of emblem. “I am so sorry to bust in here like this. I cannot get her to leave. For a little girl who has barely made a peep in the last twenty-four hours, she’s a stubborn one. When we pulled up down the street just a few minutes ago, she got out and ran through the fields. I could barely keep up. She just walked around the back and let herself in. Lily said she could find you, and she was right.”
He wanted to pound himself on the forehead. In his haste to leave last night, he’d never locked the back door.
“I don’t know who you people are, but you’ve got to get out of here,” he said.
The girl stared at him without blinking, the whites of her eyes contrasting sharply to her dark black skin. She wore shorts and a T-shirt with a cat on the front and the word “cool” written above it.
“Again, I am so sorry,” the woman continued. “We wanted to call you but there was no number—”
William moved past her. “You’ve got to go.”
“I’m Lois Jumper.” She followed him down the hall. “That’s Lily in your living room. I’m an agent with the Investigative Services Branch of the National Park Service–”
“Lady, I’m going to need you not to follow me,” William said as he entered his bedroom, closing the door.
“I know this is unorthodox, it certainly is for us,” she said through the door. “But you have to understand. Rangers found that girl in the middle of the national park in North Dakota less than two days ago. Mr. Chance, we have no idea where she came from. She barely speaks. It’s like she just appeared out of nowhere.”
He’d heard so many stories like this over the years. People at Target, in the line at Bobbie’s Dairy Dip, in the beer garden at M.L. Rose. People with fantastical or bizarre stories, from sharks with two heads to the Taos Hum. The worst was always the stories about a missing loved one. Do you think it’s aliens?
His mother would always respond like an angry lioness, all five foot two of her. Please don’t, she would intervene. Please don’t bother my son.
He’d had his own disastrous exchanges, especially when people insulted his family. Once some frat guy at a bar had pointed his finger at his brother Brian, slurring, “Aren’t you the one who stopped talking for like a year? You missed the aliens by this much.” William had hit him squarely in the jaw, and Brian had yanked him out before police had been called.
“You have to leave. Please,” William called out. He stuffed some jeans and T-shirts into a backpack and reached under the bed to pull out the wad of cash he kept stashed in a plastic bag.
“Mr. Chance, Lily has barely spoken beyond saying her first name. We’ve tried to figure out where she came from. When I took her to my office, she was given a phone to play a game while we began our investigation, and she suddenly started talking. She showed us the alert about your appearance and kept saying, ‘He knows, he knows.’ Over and over. She said she could find you. Given the seriousness of this, I got the authority to fly us here on a red-eye. Sir, you’ve got to understand that you’re our only hope at this point. And there’s more. I don’t know if you’re following what’s happening in North Dakota—”
William slid the bag onto his back and opened the door, breezing past her. “Lady, I’ve never seen that girl in my life—”
He almost ran into the girl, who was standing at the end of the hallway.
“Excuse me,” William said, moving around her and heading for the door.
“Mr. Chance, please. She can
describe you with incredible detail. She knew how to get into this trailer. We need to understand what she’s talking about. She won’t elaborate, but indicates you know her—”
“Lady!” William turned around to find the girl now standing just two feet behind him. “I cannot help you. I have no explanation for you. You are breaking and entering, and I could call the cops.”
“I am a cop, Mr. Chance. I’m a federal criminal investigator, and right now, you’re our only lead in the case of a little girl found in the middle of an empty canyon that happens to be the center of a major disaster—”
“I wish I could help. I’ve never been to North Dakota, and I’ve never seen her before. And unless you’ve got a warrant, you can’t be in here.”
Lois hustled towards him as he opened the door. “She also keeps repeating the same thing over and over that troubles us even more. Mr. Chance, please don’t make me use my arrest privileges—”
“I come from a long line of lawyers, ma’am,” he said, stepping out. “I know what it takes to make an arrest, and you don’t have it.…”
His words choked in his throat. On the far eastern corner of the yard, a group of shapes began to step out from the cotton.
Crap. People are starting to sneak around through the fields.
“This is private property!” he called out, sprinting down the stairs. “You’re trespassing!”
“Mr. Chance, stop!” Lois ordered.
Another voice, deeper and definitely male, yelled his name.
This is now completely out of control, he thought as he leapt through the cotton. At least the emerging crowd was coming from the east and the Jeep was parked beyond the western edge of the fields.
You can get to the Jeep. You can get to the Jeep.
He ran, heedless of trying to pass through undetected. Halfway through the fifth row he heard the sound of someone following behind and hissing through their teeth at the pain.
He turned to the little girl, pulling one of the hard bracts from a cotton boll off her shirt.
“Lily!” he heard a call from several rows back.
“No!” William held up his hand. “Kid, stop right now. You’re gonna hurt yourself. I can’t help you, OK? You’ve got to stop.”
He took off running down the row, still hearing little feet coming after him. He tore through a cluster of cotton to head down another dirt path, zigzagging back and forth.
After a wicked scrape on his arm, he stuck to a single row and headed for the road, emerging still too far from the Jeep. Knowing he’d be too exposed to just run out in the open, he stepped back into the row, only to find the girl and the woman emerging from the cotton.
“Get out of here,” William said, now seeing lights flashing in the fields as the people from the yard tried to follow, obviously trying to get video or photos on their phones. “Just please leave me alone.”
“Mr. Chance, this girl obviously knows you,” Lois said, trying to catch her breath. “I’m going to have to take you into custody—”
He practically sprung through another row, the dried bristles snagging so fiercely, he knew his T-shirt would be ripped. He again heard the girl behind him and Lois yelling at them both to stop.
Go five more rows. Four. Three. Two. He had to be close enough now to make a run for the Jeep.
When he busted down the row and broke from the field, the man in the expensive suit was still leaning on his Porsche.
“Hey William, seriously, give me a second—”
Ignoring him, William reached the Jeep. He was about to toss his backpack in when he saw the girl climb into his open passenger side, looking at him in desperation. Before he could speak, Lois gasped in exasperation, stumbling to catch up.
“Mr. Chance, get that girl out of your car—”
The hissing sound came just as the Jeep shuddered, then slowly began to sink on the back. A pop, a series of dings, and the front of the jeep too began to lower as well. Even in the dark, William knew his tires were rapidly deflating.
He scrambled to inspect when he saw Lois fall to her knees and then thud to the ground.
“Hey,” he said, sliding over to her. “Hey, lady. Are you OK?”
The answer was revealed in the headlights of the Porsche that shone on the blood gurgling from the wound in her neck. Her eyes were unblinking.
“My God,” he whispered. He knew he should apply pressure to her wound to stop the flow, but it was horribly clear that she wasn’t breathing.
He looked up to the deflated tire beside her. There were three bullet holes in the corner panel not far from where the girl had jumped in.
“No,” he said. “Kid! Are you alright—?”
She immediately climbed out, apparently unharmed, staring at the dead body of the agent.
“Mr. Chance.”
At the edge of the cotton, a man now stood, a pistol still pointed in their direction. From the rows came more people, all with weapons raised.
“Mr. Chance. I need you to remain calm. This is a dangerous situation and we need to get you out of here,” the man said.
“What the hell is going on?” the Porsche driver called out from where he was crouched by his car. “Seriously, what the—”
“Mr. Chance, for your own safety, you need to come with us. Now,” the man continued.
“Did you shoot that woman? She’s a federal agent!” William bellowed. “What the hell are you doing?”
The cotton behind them began to shiver and then sway. In an ever-increasing wind, lights from the center of the field flickered on, and the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades whirred in the near distance.
“Now, Mr. Chance,” the man said. “We are here to protect you.”
“You need to put that gun down,” William said.
Instead, the man took a step forward, brandishing his barrel towards him. “Let’s go. We need you to come with us now—”
His words ended in a choke.
With a surprised look on his face, he clutched his throat. As he began to violently shake, he dropped his pistol, collapsing to the ground. As if on cue, the others shapes began to gasp as well, reaching up for their throats, falling one by one.
“Holy shit,” the driver of the Porsche said, sliding around his car to climb in. “Holy shit!”
Two of the last men standing began to shoot as they fell. William raised his arm towards the girl to cover her, but shuddered to a halt when he saw her face.
Lily’s chin was raised, her eyes had narrowed in rage. Her hands were tight fists, her arms like trembling sticks, and she was staring hard at the two men remaining standing. Only when their bodies hit the ground did she flinch, her expression changing from fury to astonishment.
The winds from the approaching helicopter began to tear at their faces and clothes. William jerked back to the field, seeing once again the flashing lights approaching.
Those aren’t phones. Those are scopes on guns.
The Porsche’s engine roared through the night. Clearly with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake, the driver rolled down his window, “Get in! Get in, William!”
William’s hands rose to the back of his head, frantically looking from the series of unmoving bodies to the dead woman lying at his feet. For a moment, he thought he was caught up in another horrible nightmare.
Wake up! Wake up!
The approaching helicopter above the thrashing cotton was a slap of reality. With more lights approaching and his Jeep slumped to the dirt, he scrambled towards the car. He reached the door and threw it open, almost stepping in.
He then stopped, turned around and ran back.
“What the hell! Dude, I’m not waiting!”
William stumbled around the Jeep, seeing the girl in what appeared to be a state of shock. He snatched her up, carrying her in his arms just as more people emerged. He quickly glanced back, fearing they would start firing. Instead, they began to drag the unmoving bodies into the rows.
Wait, are they all wearing sui
ts?
“Come on!” the man yelled through the Porsche’s window.
One of the men, who had seized Lois’ body and begun to pull her into the field, looked in their direction.
William ran for the backseat and slid in, the girl holding tight to his neck.
“Go!” he shouted.
“No way man, not with that kid—”
“Do you want to get shot too?”
The driver’s response was a collection of curses as he let his foot off the brake and slammed the pedal to the floor.
FOUR
“Lynn.”
Her first reaction was not to respond to Roxy’s voice but instead to reach over to the phone on the nightstand. Her friend’s tone beyond the door was the first signal flare, which became more alarming when Lynn realized she’d accidentally set her phone facedown, meaning there had been no flash on her screen to jar her from sleep. As she slipped on her glasses and saw the multiple, brightly colored alerts, her stomach dropped.
The words from the local NBC station alert came into focus. “DISTURBANCE AT WILLIAM CHANCE’S ARKANSAS HOME.”
“Lynn?”
“I’m reading it now,” she said, pressing the link.
“You need to turn on the TV,” Roxy said, opening the door. “And turn on the damn light, who knows where you tossed your shoes for me to trip on. Where’s the remote?”
Lynn barely heard her words, frantically reading the article.
“Arkansas? He’s in Arkansas? All this time?”
“Seriously, I can’t see a damn thing. Brace yourself, I’m hitting the lights. Jesus, what’s the wattage on these bulbs? I’m practically blind now. OK, there’s the remote. I’m opening up the cabinet. You need to see this.”
“When did this come out?” Lynn slid out from her covers, still reading.
“I know I look so beautiful that you’re surprised to know I just woke up too. I just saw it myself when my usual five a.m. internal clock began its usual punishment. It’s the top story on all the early morning news shows. I came up as soon as I saw it. Best stay sitting down.”
Lynn remained standing as the TV flared. “Is he OK?”
The Dark Above Page 6
