Doc said he would, and they shook hands again before leaving.
Andy and Michelle walked down to Blue Heron loop, stopping occasionally to chat with other campers. Arriving at site thirteen, they found an old Datsun station wagon parked in front of a small, off-brand dome tent. The station wagon had obviously seen better days, and both of their experience with off-brand tents led them to believe that this one wasn’t long for the world. No one was sitting outside at the picnic table so they called out Samantha’s name. No answer. Andy tried again a little louder—she might be sleeping. Still nothing.
“They ain’t home.”
It came from the site across the road; an older man, tall with long gray hair sat on a picnic table next to a short silver haired woman.
“Do you know where she went?” Andy asked.
“She ain’t alone, she got that long-haired, skinny-armed boyfriend with all them tattoos and black clothes,” the old man said.
“Do you know where I can find them?” Michelle said.
“They said they was going up to get some juice at the other road.”
“OK, thank you,” both Andy and Michelle said.
“Tell them to bring back some juice for us here, you remind them that we gave em’ two cans of ravioli last night.” It was the old lady this time.
“OK, we will,” Andy said as they walked off.
On the way back Michelle asked Andy if he remembered anyone fitting the description of Samantha’s boyfriend at the camp meeting last night. He said he didn’t.
As they approached Golden Eagle loop he started shaking his head and chuckling. “What’s so funny?” Michelle asked.
“I don’t think that old couple is going to get payback for their ravioli,” he said.
“Why not?” She was curious.
Andy stopped and pointed. Seated at a picnic table that occupied an empty site on Golden Eagle loop were two people. Each of them had a laptop computer in front of them, with the power supply plugged into the site’s electrical outlet. Both of them were wearing headphones and furiously moving their fingers across the mouse pad and keyboard.
“Cause’ I think that the kind of juice they were after doesn’t come in a cup,” Andy said.
Michelle and Andy walked over to their table, waiting politely to be noticed. They were ignored. Michelle cleared her throat to draw their attention while studying the two of them. Both of them were wearing jeans and puffy winter coats—hers was purple, his was black. Multiple earrings protruded from various locations, including three silver studs through the boy’s left eyebrow as well. The girl was about five and a half feet tall with short, brown hair feathered back along the side, tapering to a little rat tail in the back. There were several turquoise colored beads hanging from the rat tail. She was slim with a fair complexion. Probably from being inside all day long.
Samantha was what most people, Michelle thought, would assign the title of “plain” to. Michelle wasn’t really big on cosmetics herself, but with the right touch Samantha might be able to move up into the “kind of cute” category. No tattoos were visible on the boy—the coat covered most of him. Check that—Michelle corrected herself when she noticed some archaic writing inked across the back of his hands as they moved on the laptop. They were engrossed in some type of computer game, and Michelle couldn’t really tell from her angle what it was, and truth be told she probably wouldn’t have a clue if she was looking straight at it either. She and computers didn’t get along.
Andy leaned down behind the girl and said, “You’re almost to the zero G area inside the alien ship. I’d dump the minigun and pick up the gauss rifle that’s behind the busted APC over there.” Her fingers stopped their dance over the keys and she looked up at Andy.
“Do you play Crysis at the senior center?” Her voice was flat; unemotional.
Andy replied, “Geriatric champion in shooters eight years running. What about you, shouldn’t you be at home practicing with your Easy Bake Oven and watching reruns of Cinderella?”
A smile slowly crept across her lips. She extended a hand towards him, “Samantha . . . and you are?”
“The guy you need to talk to about hacking into Canadian satellites,” Andy replied.
He moved through the brush along the trail that served as a shortcut from the campground to the boat launch. Had it been later in the season, the shrubs, vines, and trees would have been all leafed out. For now though, they were skeletonized echoes of their summer and fall glory.
He didn’t like to lie. Even now it was twisting his guts into multiple knots. He had almost turned around several times . . . almost. The first time was because it was still dark out. He didn’t like the dark. Never had. Probably due to the incessant nightmares of his youth that were fueled and refueled almost continually by his two older brothers. It was apparently a contest between them to see which could be the first to frighten their baby brother to death. The second time he had almost turned around was when he briefly considered asking for help. Maybe, he thought, that doctor at the campground . . . the little Asian man with a friendly face and tired eyes could have reassured him that his family would be OK, that it was just a normal flu and nothing to be concerned about. The third time he contemplated a retreat was when something crossed the trail about thirty yards in front of him. Deer? Fox? He wasn’t sure, there had only been a brief flash that accompanied the soft sound which had alerted him in the first place, and in any event his glasses were slightly foggy from the contrasting temperatures between the cool morning air and the slightly clammy sweat from his face.
He stopped for a moment and felt his forehead. It was definitely hot now. Or was it? Maybe it was the layers of clothing he wore, or the slight exertion of walking along the uneven trail that was making him feel flushed. He had felt fine last night when the nurse checked his temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. Well, his blood pressure had been up quite a bit. She had asked him . . . something. He couldn’t really think right now. Maybe it was about medicine. It didn’t matter. He remembered feeling fine even earlier than that, when they were all gathered at the soccer field. That memory caused his guts to clinch again. Did they know? He thought that one lady, the little short one who always bounced when she walked had looked at him funny when he handed her the paper. The fourfold paper where he listed himself as sole occupant of his campsite. Technically it wasn’t a lie. After all, he really was the only one at the campsite. The others were on the boat.
And as if the very thought of the twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser could somehow bring it to life, there it was. He had anchored her about one hundred feet off the bank in twenty-two feet—according to his fish finder anyhow—of cold lake water. There was a sharp rise in the bottom and he didn’t want to bring her in any closer. A small inflatable stood upright near the starboard cabin hatch. Its twin had been his transportation to shore. It was only the second time he used one of them—the first being last summer right after they bought the boat and took it out onto Devils Lake for its maiden voyage. His kids had talked him into pulling an inflatable behind the boat. It looked like fun and so he had agreed. An hour later they insisted that he take his turn while his wife drove the boat. Five minutes into his fun the tow rope broke. His kids, all seven of them, stood on the back of the boat as it receded into the distance, laughing and pointing at his predicament.
The rhythmic slap of the low waves breaking against the shore brought him out of his daydream. He wiped the sweat off of his brow. Sweat. That’s odd, he thought while trying to focus on where exactly he had left the small raft. He didn’t feel hot anymore. Chilled, actually. Another few minutes of searching and he found the faded yellow craft. It still held air, and the lone oar was right where he had left it as well. Dragging the inflatable to the water only took a few seconds, although he did manage to sink both of his boots far enough into the lake to overflow them. The icy water plunged down his ankles and was absorbed by his cotton athletic socks. Well, they were his son’s socks. He had only borrowed t
hem after spending five fruitless moments searching for his own amongst the luggage they had quickly offloaded from their truck to the boat before they backed it into the water.
It had been a good plan, he thought as he paddled out toward the sleek, metallic green and red boat that bobbed slightly with the waves. The news reports, while they were still on at least, had shown that entire cities were in chaos. It had been his eldest son’s idea to take the boat. After all, it was already fueled and ready to go for an upcoming fishing trip they had been planning. Plus it had a small kitchenette, a cramped but functional shower and electrical hookups that could power the small LCD flat screen television, microwave, and the chargers for the kid’s handheld video games, Ipods, MP3 players, and whatever else they used to escape from reality. At least as long as the main batteries could be charged from the alternator when the engines were running.
He stopped paddling for a moment, dipped his left hand into the lake and then pressed that cool flesh to his forehead. It felt like fire. A dozen seconds, or maybe an hour later . . . he wasn’t sure which . . . he looked up to find the gold-flecked italic writing that spelled out ‘Dreamer’, the name of his boat, within reach. The lake’s current or his own momentum must have propelled him the final few yards. Using the single paddle, he maneuvered the small craft into a position where he could reach the undersized ladder attached to the outside of the hull.
He didn’t remember climbing into the boat, not at all. But it was there he found himself moments or hours later. Time passage seemed very elusive to him. He thought about his wife, she was somewhere below deck. He thought about taking his fingers and plunging them through her eye sockets as he tore off strips of her flesh with his teeth. What? Where did that thought come from? It had been so vivid, so real. He looked at his fingers, his clothes, they were clean—no blood. What was he supposed to do? There was . . . something. Something to do with the boat maybe. He stumbled up to the small wheelhouse, more of a semi-enclosed cockpit actually—and sat in the captain’s chair. His right hand followed muscle memory and made contact with the ignition key. Where his arm extended forward, the sleeve of his overcoat crept back, revealing the skin of his wrist. It looked odd to him. He had seen that color before, somewhere . . . where was that? The campground, that was it. The doctor, or was it the loud older man with a shotgun and a crew cut, or the cops. He couldn’t remember.
Several thumps sounded from below deck. He turned the key. Three slow cranks later the engine caught and sputtered to life. Where was he going? The cops. There were two of them. One was a tall girl, the other, a taller man. He wanted to wrap his arms around their waist and squeeze until their spinal column shattered and sprayed bits of blood and bone fragments across his face. Huh? Another flash of intense memory. It had been so vibrant, pulsating with color and sound. So powerful he even had the aftertaste of coppery blood in his throat. Had he already done it? More thumps sounded from below. He was tired. He needed to rest, just for a little bit until his fever went down.
What was he supposed to do? There was something. What was it? The doctor? That sounded right. Maybe he was supposed to take his family to see the doctor. He nudged the gear selector into forward and throttled up the engines, felt the lurch as 170 combined horsepower thrashed the water into foam at the stern. Something wasn’t right. Why wasn’t the boat moving? He was so tired. Leaning forward, he hooked his arm through the steering wheel, laying his head along the instrument panel. Just a few moments of sleep, that’s all he needed. He was so tired, so very tired . . . and so very hungry.
Forty feet off the ground, near the top of a spruce tree that grew along the edge of the lake, a solitary blue jay sat. Cocking its head to the left and right, the usually vocal creature was silent, observing the curious scene below. The large shiny object that held the two-legs was circling offshore. With each pass it came nearer to the land. Three circles later there was a muted snapping sound, and the shiny object careened at an angle that would take it very near the blue jay’s tree. Closer and closer it came until there was a sound that reminded the bird of trees heavily coated with ice falling in a winter storm. The shiny object turned on its side as it landed where the water met the sand and gravel. The bird flitted to a higher perch and watched the strange scene. Spilling out from a nest hole in the shiny object, many two legs came. Some smaller, some larger. All of them made the jay uneasy. All of them were the color of the dry stones along the lake in the summer. The bird could clearly see red eyes on most of the larger ones. The two smallest ones, the ones that moved much more quickly than the others, their eyes were a sickly yellow.
Chapter 18
Samantha’s eyes brightened noticeably at Andy’s statement, and they spent the next forty-five minutes or so “talking shop.” Most of it was way too technical for Michelle to follow, or even understand, but she didn’t care. Computers had never interested her for anything other than the necessities of her work. A few snippets of English interspaced between Andy and Samantha’s nerd language trickled through. Samantha was a twenty-four year-old information technology systems analyst from Bismarck. She had worked for a large cellular phone provider in the IT department up until a few days ago when the federal government had shut them down, quoting “national security.” Her boyfriend, Garrett, was “strategically unemployed” and had been so for at least the last year. Samantha seemed to think that with a satellite dish, several small pieces of cable, and various connectors she may be able to use the software on her laptop to access signals from satellites, possibly even into active data transmission . . . whatever that was. Andy said that he had a very similar idea a few days ago but hadn’t had time to work on it. He thought that he may have most of the materials, or at least as good as they were going to get back at the cabin. Michelle listened as Andy asked Samantha a few more questions. Apparently satisfied with the answers, he motioned for Michelle to follow him a short distance away down the loop.
“What’s up?” Michelle asked.
Andy appeared to be lost in thought. Michelle waited.
Finally he said, “A couple of things. You and I need to hit the road, but I’d really like to get her started on this project; however the stuff we need is over at my cabin. I don’t think we could, or should, take the time to run over there and gather up all the potential items that she may need, as well as a generator and fuel in case the power drops out again and bring them all back here. I also can’t ask Walter to ferry her over to the cabin and back while we’re gone. So that really leaves us with only two choices. Do we wait until we get back to let her make the attempt, or do we take her and leave her at my cabin when we’re gone? Another way to look at that is, can we afford to wait for information verses do we trust her enough to leave her at my cabin without one of us there? What’s your gut tell you?”
Michelle thought about it for a minute, and then said, “It’s going to have to be your call. It’s your cabin, your home. We don’t know Samantha at all. She may be the greatest girl in the world, but then again she may steal you blind as soon as you turn your back. I don’t know. And I’ve got to say that things have been so messed up for the last several days that I’m not sure if I’d trust my own judgment. Maybe Walter could run over there once a day to check up on her. I suppose that Mr. Pin-cushion will be accompanying her as well—something to factor in. Sorry I can’t be of more help, but really, you’ll have to decide.”
Andy seemed to weigh the options for a few more moments, and then he looked at Michelle and shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you think it’s possible for her to do what she’s suggesting? I mean, I know nothing . . . less than nothing about computers,” Michelle said.
“Oh, it’s definitely possible,” Andy said. “All you’re really doing is establishing a satellite link. The hard part will be making the data you receive intelligible.”
“Didn’t you work with computers in the military? I think I remember Eric mentioning something about that to me,” Michelle said.
An
dy grinned and said, “Among other things. But to answer your question about the girl, she definitely has the skills. I just have a hard time trusting people is all. But I guess you gotta start somewhere.”
Andy and Michelle turned and walked back over to the picnic table where the bundled up gamers were furiously poking at their keyboards again. Both of them stopped their game and looked up at us.
Andy said, “Samantha, Garrett, were you both at the meeting last night?” They said they were.
“Listen to me carefully,” Andy continued, “we need information about what’s going on. The sooner the better. I can offer you a chance to use your skills to try and gather some information that will help us out, and really, any information at all is going to be better than what we have right now. But I can’t babysit you. Michelle and I need to drive over to Fort Hammer, and we’re not entirely sure what we’re going to run into. Maybe nothing, maybe . . . something. You’d be on your own up at my cabin, probably one of the safest places to be, but you’d still be on your own. And I’m not sure for how long. Hopefully, Michelle and I will be back before the day is out, but we may not. I don’t know you from Adam, and the same is true for you. What I do know however, is that I’m willing to put some trust in you as a person, if you’re willing to do the same for me. I just want you to remember something though. You saw the bodies, you understand what’s happening, right?”
They nodded again.
“OK then, all I ask is two things. First, that you give your best effort toward getting us some usable information, as much as you can. Second, treat my cabin and what’s in it with respect. Enjoy yourselves while you’re there, but remember why you’re there. Do we have a deal?”
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