My mom shook her head at Chrissie. "What about her? We can't just leave her."
"We don't have a choice if we want to get out of here," said Jenny. "We can call the police when we get to my car and tell them about her. I'm betting she'll wake up and walk back to the cabins before they arrive. Carrying her out of here would not only slow us way down – we'd probably end up having to knock her out again."
"I'm with her," said Meredith. "Words I never thought I'd say."
Jenny gave her a bleak smile. "We'll slide her into the tent under some blankets. Make her comfortable. Then we're out of here."
A TWO-hour hike, most of it off-trail, took us to a small turnout on a forest service road and Jenny's silver Toyota Accord. A few paltry more steps and we'd be clear of this insanity. I could almost taste our freedom. Jenny had out her keys and was triggering the door locks before we even reached the edge of the trees, so I guessed she was feeling the same way.
The Trinity County Sheriff's Department SUV that rolled up alongside Jenny's car definitely did not fit in my rosy vision of the future. The two black SUVs bearing ELLSWORTH SECURITY logos parked under some nearby trees tilted my vision toward the distinctly dystopian.
"Oh, fuck," Jenny muttered through her teeth.
Two men emerged from the Sheriff's SUV. One guy was heavy and kind of soft-looking. The other was lean and, by all appearances, mean.
"Good morning, folks," said the lean and mean dude. "I'm Sheriff Johnson. Are any of you the owner of this vehicle?"
I imagined a number of options, including denial, but Jenny collapsed that probability wave by saying: "I am, officer."
"You're Jenny Green?" When she hesitated, he added: "We ran your plates."
"Yes."
"Are you aware you're on private property?"
"I thought this was public land."
"No, ma'am. This is the property of Ellsworth Enterprises." He focused on my mom, Meredith, and me. "And would you three be?"
"We're guests at the Retreat," said Meredith.
His dark eyebrows kinked up on his pale, narrow face. He reminded me of Bela Lugosi before colorized film. "Were you two in some form of struggle?"
"We fell," I said quickly.
"On some rocks," my mom added as his skeptical stare persisted. "It's rough out there."
"Okay. I'll need to see some IDs, please."
We dug out our wallets and produced IDs. Sheriff Johnson handed them to his deputy, who instead of retreating to the police cruiser strolled over to the security SUVS and handed them through the driver-side window. I could just make out someone behind the shadowy windshield hunched over what I assumed was a small computer screen judging from the pale light reflecting on his face. After a brief exchange with the driver, the deputy returned – minus the driver licenses. I took that to be not a good sign.
"The others checked out," said the deputy.
The sheriff nodded without surprise. He returned his attention to Jenny. "Ms. Green, I'm afraid the owner has filed a complaint against you for trespassing."
"She's with us," said my mom.
"I can see that. But Ms. Green is not on the guest list and was not given permission to enter the retreat area or Mr. Ellsworth's land."
"We invited her," said Meredith.
I had to hand to Merry – to them all. They were staying cool under fire.
"That's not the report we received. Witnesses have placed Ms. Green moving alone at the residential area taking photographs of guests."
"What witnesses?" I asked.
"They will be named as necessary," said the sheriff. "The Retreat also has surveillance cameras. I haven't had the chance to look the recordings over yet, but I will. In the meantime, I'll need you to come back with us to the station. We'll get it all straightened out there."
"Am I under arrest?" Jenny asked.
"You are. Now if you will step over to your vehicle and place your hands behind your back..."
"My friends are stranded out here," she said.
"Not a problem. Security will bring them back to the retreat."
"Okay. Just let me say goodbye."
Jenny turned to me, snaking her camera out of a jacket pocket and jamming it into the windbreaker's side pocket as she closed in for a hug.
"Keep it safe," she whispered into my ear.
I couldn't think of anything to say. I couldn't turn her down but I really didn't want that camera in my pocket. She backed away, a pasty smile on her face, offering a quick wave at Meredith and my mom before "assuming the position." The deputy handcuffed her and they stuffed her into their SUV. She nodded to me through the window as they rolled away.
One of the Ellsworth security SUVs rolled up and a big, burly guy stepped out and held open a rear door for us. I couldn't see any other option than to climb in beside my mom and Merry.
We drove back to the Ellsworth Retreat in silence. I spent most of the time wondering what would happen next and if we were actually in any trouble. I couldn't see them doing anything draconian. It wasn't as if we'd done anything wrong or that either Max Emanuel or Marion Ellsworth would go all Jonestown on us. What could they do except maybe talk with us and send us on our merry way?
We pulled up in front of the Lodge. Two stocky men stood guard by the front doors.
"What's going on here?" my mom asked.
"They set up a makeshift hospital inside," one of the security dudes replied. "You're not the only ones who got dinged a bit last night. A doctor will check you out, get your wounds attended to."
That didn't sound so terrible. But inside, we found that the auditorium had been converted into a hospital/prison. Rows of beds had been laid out, mostly occupied by women, and every woman was strapped to the mattress. None of them appeared injured, but their eyes were wild and angry. The dozen or so men were unbound, but about half of them were hooked up to IVs and looked to be in pain.
"Thank God!" one of the women cried. "Meredith, please help us! These lunatics are holding us against our will!"
That was Meredith's redheaded friend, Roberta, the Goldman-Sachs executive. Her cry raised a chorus of pleas, some addressing Meredith by name. "Meredith, the men have gone insane!" "You need to call the police!" "Don't let them fool you!" "Mere, run while you still can!"
"Jesus," said Meredith.
"It's okay," said one of our brawny escorts. "We can tell you ladies aren't altered. Don't go within reach of the women in the beds. The doc, here, will take care of you."
We paused before a harried-looking middle-aged man in blood-stained street clothes who peered at us bleakly through slumping wire-frame glasses. He motioned to a woman across the room, who hurried over to them.
"Hello, I'm John Donaldson, one of the doctors on call here. Please, take a seat. Just a couple questions and we'll get you fixed up." He nodded to the woman who'd joined us – thirty-something, bespectacled, cherubic-faced. "This is Dr. Andrea Joyce with the Centers for Disease Control."
"They actually called the CDC?" my mom asked.
"Yes," said the woman. "I'm here purely as a precaution."
We sat down on some folding chairs near a table set away from the beds. The woman opened a laptop on the table. She asked our names and typed and clicked with her mouse as we answered. Dr. Donaldson scratched the day's growth of beard on his face and gazed past us with a tired expression.
"I have some questions of a sensitive nature," said Dr. Joyce. "Please excuse my bluntness, but we need to know if either of you" – she looked from my mom to Meredith – "had sexual contact with any men who had taken Reprise."
"No," said Meredith.
After a moment's hesitation, my mom said, "No."
"I'm sorry," said the woman doctor, now turning to me, "but I'm going to ask you the same question."
"I haven't had sex with any men," I said.
"Good. Thanks. Okay." She studied us over her glasses. "May I ask how you two received your wounds?"
My mom and I exchanged glances. Mere
dith shrugged with her eyebrows in response to my unspoken question.
"We had an, uh, altercation with one of the women."
"One woman?" Dr. Joyce looked between us. "Both of you?"
"Yes," said my mom.
"Did this woman claw or bite you?"
"Both," I said.
"Okay," said Dr. Joyce, "I don't mean to put you on the spot, Aiden, but I have to ask: Have you noticed anything unusual about your mother or Ms. Baxter's behavior?"
"No. They're not altered like the other women."
"Good. Thank you. I'll turn you over to Dr. Donaldson now and he'll get you cleaned up."
My mom and I were led away to the suite of rooms ringing the auditorium by Dr. Donaldson. Merry tagged along. He took my mom into a private room. I glimpsed the usual physician paraphernalia adorning some counters before the door closed behind them. Meredith and I took up residence in an adjoining room. A big screen TV hanging from one wall discussed the morning commute around Sacramento.
"CDC," Meredith murmured. "That was fast."
"I'm surprised they called in the government," I said.
Merry smiled. "You mean one of their business partners. I don't know who she is within that organization. I'm guessing someone not too high up they keep on payroll for emergencies like this."
"By the way, Jenny handed me this." I eased her camera out of my windbreaker.
Meredith turned it over in her hands. "It has WiFi capability. I know they have WiFi here." She tapped a couple of buttons. "No connection coming up. They must've shut it down. Not surprising." She pulled out her cell. "No reception. Must've shut down the nearest service tower, too."
"They can do that?"
"I would say yes. This place always has great reception."
"What's the point? They can't hold us all here forever."
"The longer they can control the situation the more time they have to calculate options. Right now you can bet CE's board is in an emergency virtual meeting brainstorming damage control. How do they limit the flow of information? How do they spin what does get out?"
"How do you think they'll do that?"
"They'll create a cover story, get the cooperation of everyone they can backing up that story – shouldn't be difficult with the men anyway – try to shut down any blogs or photos posted about the event, assuming there are any. Get their big news media friends to post the cover story somewhere in the middle or back pages if that's necessary. Attack any alternate news sites as "conspiracy mongers" if they post anything about this."
"Sounds like you've been through this yourself."
"I'm a Baxter." She gave me an unpleasant smile. "I've seen it a dozen times in my family, and the Baxters aren't in CE's league when it comes to disinformation."
My mom and Dr. Donaldson emerged.
"She's okay," he said. "Just a number of superficial flesh wounds and a couple of nasty bites. Disinfected them and patched her up – gave her a prescription of Amoxicillin." He rattled a small bottle in one hand. "You're next, Aiden."
In his improvised office, Dr. Donaldson had me strip to my boxer shorts and looked over my body. "Not much to clean. Everything's scabbed over, unlike your mom. Your hyper immune system, I suppose. Still, I'll prescribe a round of antibiotics just to be on the safe side."
"Thanks, Doctor. I assume we're free to go now."
"You mean leave the Retreat?" A small frown formed. "I don't think Dr. Joyce is quite ready to sign off on that yet. She wants to observe everyone, especially the women, and make sure anyone who leaves won't spread whatever the women have."
"Does she have any ideas what the women have?"
"Nothing concrete. Your mom would probably know more about the possibilities than any of us."
He walked out with me.
"What happens now, Dr. Donaldson?" Meredith asked.
"I suggest you talk to Dr. Joyce about that. The other male guests are staying in their cabins. You'll probably be asked to do the same until we get this all sorted out."
Dr. Joyce met with us back in the auditorium. "Good as new?"
"It would be nice to be new again," said my mom, an edge in her voice. "Are you here in an official capacity, Dr. Joyce?"
"Yes. Director Phillips herself requested that I come down here."
"You and no other CDC personnel?"
Dr. Joyce's pleasant smile tightened at the corners. "Just me, for now. See what we have here before calling in the cavalry."
"What do you think we have here?"
"A sexually transmissible syndrome of some kind. But I'm sure, Dr. Stevens, you would know more about that than I."
I wondered if I imagined the note of accusation in her voice.
"Can we leave now?" Meredith asked.
"We're asking that all guests remain here for now."
"You're asking?"
"It shouldn't be long, Ms. Baxter. In the meantime, I understand that most of the kitchen staff is unaffected and will continue to provide meals on the usual schedule. The manager is in Cabin 23 if you have other needs."
"Just to be sure I'm understanding you correctly," said my mom, "you have established quarantine protocols here? No one in or out?"
"Correct. Or I should say no 'unauthorized' persons in or out."
"We'd be physically prevented from leaving the resort."
"Guards are posted around the grounds. You're free to move within the grounds. It shouldn't be long. I'm sure you understand the need for these precautionary steps, Dr. Stevens."
"I do."
"All right. Well, let me know if I can help you with anything."
"Perhaps I can help you with something. I am one of the lead researchers on the Reprise project after all."
"So I understand." Dr. Joyce's cool gaze didn't suggest she was impressed. "At this point, we've sent blood samples from the females and males to our Division of Laboratory Sciences where they'll be analyzed by the best scientists in our government. But when we lift the quarantine, I'm sure they'll have questions for you, Dr. Stevens."
We left the Lodge and headed for our cabin.
"Best scientists, not so sure," said Meredith. "Most political scientists, no question."
"Still, I'm happy they're looking at this," said my mom. "The more eyes on this the better. Even if it means huge fines for CE."
"Fat chance of that. It will probably end up getting an award for pioneering in science or something."
Two Ellsworth security guards in their standard business suit attire were waiting outside our cabin. That wasn't necessarily cause for alarm, but I knew we were in trouble when four dudes in workout suits came jogging up behind us. We stopped short of the cabin. The men behind slowed to a walk and waited silently a few yards behind us. We eyed the two groups of men.
"What do you want?" Meredith asked.
"We'll need to search you," said one of them. "All three of you."
"You have no legal right to search us," my mom stated.
"That's true, Dr. Stevens." The spokesman, a broad-shouldered six-two or three dude with a crooked nose that would've made my post-injury nose seem straight smiled through his neatly trimmed goatee. "But we're still going to search you."
"For what?" I asked.
"Cameras. Cell phones. Any form of recording devices."
I cursed myself for not anticipating this obvious possibility and hiding Jenny's camera somewhere. Did this have any relation to Jenny? When they didn't find a camera on her, did they deduce she'd handed it off to one of us? No way of knowing, and I wasn't about to ask. The question was: Would I just hand it over to them now? Did I have any other option? In a way, it would be a huge relief to get rid of it. But the idea of letting these goons – and the smarter goons they represented – get their way pissed me off.
When one of the security guys approached, I skittered away.
"Come on, kid..."
His smirk turned into a world-weary scowl when my skittering segued into a tentative jog. The two dudes at the cabin str
ode into my path and the four guys at my back spread out to ensnare me.
"Aiden," my mom called. "Stop. There're too many."
But when the men closed in I broke free of their closing circle in a burst of speed. A plan that actually made some sense flashed into my head. All I had to do was get some distance between us and I could ditch Jenny's camera.
I heard one of the men speaking into his portable radio. Soon security dudes starting popping out of the woodwork ahead and around me, closing in on all sides, seeking the right intersection angles. It reminded me of flag football we sometimes played in gym class. My former pudgy little body rarely got more than three steps before someone stripped a flag from my back pocket. Not far enough to practice anything like dodging. But that was then.
I was running fast but not at full speed. Three guys on my right were huffing along, losing ground. A couple of dudes ten or so yards ahead on my left angled in for the kill. Another group, maybe thirty yards ahead, was approaching. The forest on my right was my goal. I needed to make a sharp move into the woods in the narrowing space between the converging groups. The little flashing geometry calculator in my head said I could do it with a serious burst of speed.
I kicked it into high gear. I glimpsed surprise and concern on their faces as I pulled away from the security dudes on either side. The two guys ahead on my left adjusted their angle inward. The group beyond them slowed and spread out, anticipating me being driven into their brawny arms. But they underestimated the rate at which I was pulling away from the three dudes on my right. One final explosion of speed, creating a few yards of distance, and I cut hard right toward the woods past the men on my right – within a diving body's reach of the final guy, but he and his friends were too startled by my move to attempt a flying tackle.
Boom! Or so my self-congratulation sounded in my own head as I whizzed past my would-be captors into the forest. The sharp incline and plenty of obstacles ate up my speed, but they would eat the security guys' speed, too. I leaped a log, dodged a big rock, and squeezed between two trees without breaking stride. A glance back showed my pursuers weren't faring so well. One fell, a couple stumbled, and the others slowed to a cautious half-jog. Several choice curse words followed me up the hill. If anything, it seemed, this environment gave me an even greater edge. But let's not get cocky. Cockiness went before a fall, as Coach Wexler sometimes pointed out.
Hyper Page 47
