One Rule - No Rules

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Not that heights had ever especially bothered Thalma. She'd learned early, after walking away uninjured from a three-story fall in an old barn near her home, that the heights which could injure or kill others held minimal threat for her. She'd spent one summer as a seven year old jumping from higher and higher places – and only once, landing on a root with one foot from the top of a towering spruce, had she come up hobbling for most of a day.

  Thalma gazed after the hawk, now only a dark specter winging through the night, and felt its pull – a small player in a huge firmament of gravitational forces. She latched on, and began to sail through the night in pursuit. The flying figure drew closer and closer, until it was almost in reach and Thalma could feel that air displaced by its furiously beating wings. It glanced back at her and swerved – and for an instant she feared it would turn on her, talons raking, but it merely dived and disappeared into the shadows below.

  A muted rumble pulled her attention upward to a passing airliner. She felt its pull like a bungee cord drawing tight. Okay. The instant she accepted the force she was yanked at blinding speed over the fields – fast enough for the air to burn her eyes. She released her hold and slowed to a more sedate glide.

  Perhaps a hundred yards below, she spotted a large male deer bounding through a grassy field a mile or so beyond her property. On an impulse, she matched its pace – not fastening herself to it, just using the general forces around her to pull her along. Ahead, she spotted a pickup weaving back and forth across a dirt road, and could see an intersection between the deer and the truck as clearly as if a math professor had diagrammed it on a chalk board. Were the drivers drunk? She could hear loud country music playing, which wasn't a good sign.

  She swooped down, intending to divert the deer, but whimsy took over and she ended up settling down lightly on its back. Instead of trying to throw her, the terrified beast redoubled its speed, racing straight for the weaving headlights on the road ahead. Fortunately, the pickup slowed to a stop. Thalma couldn't restrain a joyous whoop! as the deer cleared the road in a single bound – caught in a blaze by the truck's headlights - as she clung to the back of its antlers.

  She vaulted off the back of the freaked-out stag and rose into the air, hovering in the darkness above the pickup, where she could see two young men pushing back their caps and trading disbelieving looks in the lit-up cab.

  "We didn't just see that, did we, Marcus?"

  "You mean, some beautiful chick riding a deer?"

  Their drunken voices drifted up to her through the still night air.

  "Now I know a few girls who shoot deer, but they sure as hell don't ride them."

  "Then what the fuck was that then?"

  "I don't know. Call me crazy, dude, but I think that was what they call a wood nymph."

  "But there ain't hardly any woods around here, man."

  "A prairie nymph then?"

  Thalma covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle. Since when do I giggle? But she was high as a kite, wasn't she? Literally.

  She drifted over the pickup, about to fly back home, when the two young men – barely boys, she thought – tore off two more beers from the twelve-pack behind their seat. No, she thought. That isn't going to happen.

  She dropped down on the cab roof – hard enough to shake the truck.

  "What the hell?"

  The young men scrambled out to the front of the truck, and gazed up at a tall, dark female specter standing with hands on her hips on the roof. One of the boys raised the mini-flashlight on his keychain, but a wave of her hand sent the chain flying out of his grasp. Another wave tore the beer cans from their hands, sloshing alcohol as they rolled across the road. The boys stood as if planted in the gravel, their Adams apples bobbing.

  "Don't drink and drive," Thalma commanded. "Prairie nymphs don't like boys who drink and drive." She stifled another giggle. Luckily, the young men couldn't see her grin.

  "No, ma'am," one of the boys gulped.

  "Park your truck at the side of the road and sleep for a couple of hours," she said. "Drive home when you're sober."

  "Yes, ma'am," the other young man said. "Are you really a nymph?"

  "How else could I fly?"

  She launched off the top of the cab, hearing the boys gasp as she flew upward into the night. She sailed back over the fields, a huge smile plastered on her face. The smile took on a small note of concern as she felt her buoyancy slipping, along with her grasp of the gravitational forces around her. The concern had scarcely formed when she dropped out of the sky and ploughed into a ditch.

  After a few seconds of recovering her wits, Thalma pulled herself to her feet and dusted herself off. She laughed out loud – spitting grass and dirt but still grinning. Now that had been fucking incredible.

  She walked home, feeling drained but otherwise normal. The night was still shimmering in an unnatural way, but the strongest effects had run their course. She guessed she'd been airborne for maybe fifteen minutes, if that. Not as long as the first time, she thought. And her thoughts had been much clearer. But then she'd made a point of inhaling less, and possibly her body had acclimated to it a bit. Or the energy required to fly had consumed the drug faster?

  Socrates bounded out to greet her at her backyard. He sniffed and snuffled and fussed over her as if reassuring himself that she truly was back on terra firma.

  "Good boy," she said.

  Thalma flopped back on the grass, and watched the stars gather overhead. They didn't seem so distant tonight. She could've sworn she could feel their warmth when she held up her palms – and the tiny, residual proddings of their gravity. What if she'd let them take her? Would she have suffocated or exploded in space high above the Earth? Or...?

  At her side, Socrates grunted and made noises that no longer sounded like simple expressions of emotion, but more like a language. That pattern was there...so close she thought she could almost pluck their meaning out of the night air. "You're safe," he seemed to say. "This is good."

  "I don't know if I am safe," she said, scratching the back of his neck. The moment the words left her mouth, she saw it was true: separate dangers were converging – the government on one hand, Mr. Murphy and his criminal organization on the other. She could see it just as clearly as she experienced the gravitational patterns surrounding her – as clearly as she'd seen the deadly intersection between the pickup and the deer. Neither were going to leave her alone. Mr. Murphy and company would pry into her life, seeing her not as the ultimate target, but as the one visible doorway into what they'd view as a criminal competitor. In their minds, they'd have no choice.

  The DEA and allied government agencies would also see her fictional company as a rival criminal gang. They wouldn't necessarily take action against her, but they would attempt to penetrate and unravel her world, with the ultimate goal of control.

  She could try to close that door – take her dog and maybe Louis into another life – but then that might spur them into digging even harder. Perhaps leaving them the illusion of a door might be better. She could monitor them as they monitored her.

  Yes, she thought with a hint of weariness. Tomorrow I'll need to start looking into them.

  Chapter 8

  THALMA COULD HAVE SWORN she heard trumpets in the sky on the morning she drove into Breton to retrieve Louis. In reality, it was just another quiet Thursday morning, except for in her head, where worries, plans, and basic "wool-gathering" collided in what felt like an endless spin cycle of thoughts. And knowing that Louis would be released today had made focusing on any of them nearly impossible.

  It seemed anti-climactic when Louis entered the library, giving her a chagrined smile. They'd seen each other twice, for a total of four hours, and she'd found it strangely unsatisfying, even unsettling, to sit there making small talk and then to walk away, leaving him to be caged. On both visits she'd entertained fantasies of breaking through to the inside and taking out anyone who got in the way – including that supercilious lady at the front desk! �
� and dragging Louis out of there. Or maybe just blowing down the walls and leading him out of the rubble.

  Silly fantasies for most people, but for Thalma, well within her grasp. Which made them that much more powerful.

  They hugged briefly in the lobby, both keeping their emotions in check until they were in the parking lot at her pickup, and Louis wrapped himself around her like a lost puppy.

  "Was it as bad as you thought it would be?" she asked.

  "About what I thought," he said. "How was it for you?"

  "Worse than I thought it would be."

  He smiled at her. They climbed in her pickup.

  "What have you been up to?" he asked. "Anything interesting happening?"

  "The DEA and local police raided my farm two days ago."

  "What?" His face, already wan from a week indoors, paled another two shades. "You're kidding me."

  "They didn't find anything." She gave his arm a reassuring pat. "The timing was actually good – I'm glad they got it out of the way. Now it won't be hanging over our heads."

  Louis's body sagged with relief. "They didn't even come close?"

  "The closest they came was one of their scent dogs going bonkers when it apparently inhaled some residue of that special LSD on the carpet."

  "I seem to remember you vacuuming that area."

  "I did, but it only takes a microscopic amount. But they weren't able to get anything from that." She smiled sidewise at him. "In other news, I tried some of it again two nights ago."

  "Ah. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. How did it go this time?"

  "I chased a hawk, rode a deer, and stopped two young guys from driving under the influence."

  Louis laughed. "Sounds like quite a night."

  "It was." She smiled at him again.

  "Now wait a minute." He tugged at his beard, staring at her. "You're not joking?"

  "Nope."

  "So you dared to go outside this time."

  "It was dark. I thought it would be okay. I wanted to test out the flying aspect more thoroughly."

  "So you really did chase a hawk and ride a deer? Not to mention stop some dudes from drinking and driving?"

  "That wasn't the plan. I spotted this deer on a collision course with this weaving pickup, and was trying to steer it away. Somehow I ended up on his back..." She told him the rest.

  "So these guys saw you riding a deer and flying?" He snorted a laugh in response to her nod. "Man. They're gonna think they had one strange drunken hallucination that night." His wondering grin faded. "But if they believe it really happened and started telling people about it..."

  "I don't think there's much danger of anyone believing them."

  "No. But still. You weren't exactly being cautious, were you?"

  "Not so much."

  Her smile drifted downward. They drove for a time in silence.

  "I know you're really unusual physically," said Louis, "but still, if it makes you able to fly you'd think it would have some weird effects on other people, too."

  "If it does, we should start hearing about it at some point. I don't think this stuff has been out there very long."

  "Makes you wonder about the long-term effects." He shot her a worried look. "For all we know, maybe it causes brain damage or something."

  "You've been thinking cheerful thoughts in your jail cell."

  "When I wasn't discussing philosophy and advanced mathematics with my cellmates." He offered her a rueful grin. "Anyway, it sounds like you're planning to manufacture it yourself, after you pay off that Murphy's Law dude."

  "I'm thinking about it. And yes, I have considered the safety issue. Too bad we can't get the FDA to approve some trials." She smiled at him. "Don't worry, I won't be selling it until it hits the market and the reports start coming in. In the meantime, I'll pay off Murphy and his organization, manufacture some extra for myself, and see what happens."

  "I'm a lot more worried about the dangers of the organization selling the drugs than the drugs themselves. Do you have any clue who they are yet?"

  "A clue, maybe. There are hints of an organization emerging during the Gulf War – something to do with mercenaries and lots of money and drugs and other things that went unaccounted for. I've heard something about it before, and figured it was probably some shadowy CIA operation, but now I'm wondering if it might be a private organization with CIA, military, and maybe other government connections."

  "Oh, great." Louis was starting to look pale again.

  "They seem to have a lot of trained operators on call," she said. "I've seen plenty of hoods – small and big time – and they don't handle themselves like the men at the self-storage place. They were former military, I'm sure of that."

  "If you're right, will they leave us alone? I mean, once you pay them back?"

  "I doubt it. A military organization always wants to know the strengths and weaknesses of its competitors."

  "So what does that mean, exactly? Will they be showing up at our front door?"

  "Probably. Since I'm the only person in the organization they have an address for."

  "How did they get your address?"

  "I assume they ran my plates while they were following me, or used contacts within the DEA or accessed the police Record Management System."

  Louis was shaking his head, looking pained. "You seem awfully calm. How long have you been thinking this?"

  "For a while. It sort of came to a head that night during my trip. I saw some patterns I'd been missing or blinding myself to."

  "Something like that happened to me under shrooms. I suddenly realized my relationship with my girlfriend was complete bullshit." His sparse smile faded. "Maybe we should just disappear?"

  Thalma tapped the brake lightly as a suicidal doe bounded across the road only meters from the bumper. Her cool blue eyes studied the road far ahead.

  "You'd be willing to leave with me?" she asked in a soft voice. "To give up your identity?"

  "Would I have to? Who knows we're together, except our nosy sheriff?"

  "Probably no one. But that won't last."

  "So now might be the right moment?"

  Thalma glanced at him, and sighed. "I love that farm more than anywhere I've ever lived. I've put more work into it than any other place, too."

  "Yeah, I believe that."

  "But I don't want to put you at risk."

  "Heh, well, I don't exactly want to get into an OK Corral situation, but I don't want to run off in a panic, either. What do you think the danger is?"

  Thalma could hear him straining to be calm and brave. So far out of his comfort zone. It wasn't fair to involve him.

  For a few seconds, her selfish desires fought a pitched battle with her growing feelings for Louis and her desire to keep him safe.

  "For now, I don't think they'd do anything much," she said, wondering if she were being completely honest. "Most likely, they'll just poke around a bit and wait to see if I can deliver the goods."

  "Of course, they don't know that you're 'The Man'."

  "If they did, they would definitely be on their way sooner than later. Since I'm just a lowly employee, they'd have to consider if it's worth tipping their hand coming after me."

  Louis was nodding, appearing almost convinced, she thought. That made her want to set aside her selfish motivations and be brutally honest.

  "Still," she said, "the safest thing would be for you to go back to town and stay away from me for a few months until we see how this pans out."

  "Stay away from you for months?" Louis's chuckle sounded like he was chewing rocks. "I think I'd prefer someone shoot me."

  Thalma tried to stem the warm tide of emotion rising from her chest, but some of it got through, inching out along her jaw line in a swath of scarlet. Louis reached across and grasped her thigh. She suppressed a shiver.

  "I've been dreaming about you," he said.

  "You have?" She cleared her throat. "Sweet, innocent dreams?"

  "Pretty much the opposite of t
hat."

  "Good."

  She latched onto his wrist, pressing his hand harder against her.

  "Easy, girl," Louis chuckled. "I'm better with my hand and wrist bones intact."

  TWO WEEKS after Louis's release, a pair of pickups showed up one morning on the field across the road from their driveway bearing bright red DeMoto Seeds logos. Some men with caps stepped out and did some gesturing at her neighbor's crop, conveying the impression of official business. She and Louis were out on the back porch doing barbecue, but neither of them had paid any attention to the men until Socrates issued a low growl. Thalma noted his nape hairs rising as he focused his dark gaze on the visitors.

  "What's wrong with him?" Louis asked, tracing the Rottweiler's gaze down the driveway. "Not a fan of DeMoto Seeds?"

  Thalma focused on the four men, who showed no awareness of them as they continued their apparent discussion a quarter-mile away.

  "I don't know," she said. "I'll be back in a second. I'm going to check them out a bit."

  Leaving Louis to tend the pork chops, she sprinted upstairs. She snatched her 125X Leupold spotting scope from her bedroom and climbed with it into the attic. She focused the scope through the window facing the road. The men stood with hands on hips, seemingly locked in serious conversation. Nothing suspicious there, except that they all appeared unusually fit. But when she turned her scope on the pickup she made out one man with a telephoto lens hunkered down in the seat gazing in her direction. With normal binoculars she would've missed him, but the top of his head and his camera lens stood out in bold relief with her powerful scope.

  "Busted," she whispered.

  She walked downstairs wondering how she should feel. Gratitude to Socrates for one thing, and annoyance mixed with anxiety for another. Louis was dishing up the chops and baked potatoes when she re-emerged. They sat at the patio table. Thalma chewed with uncharacteristic slowness as she gazed into the trees ringing the backyard. The red-tailed hawk, absent for nearly a week after their aerial encounter, had returned and was eyeing her suspiciously.