Bobtail caved in and lapped up the creamy goodness. It began to purr, inviting Lydia to initiate a massage.
“Good girl,” Lydia beamed as she ran her fingers over the top of the cat’s head, “Good… girl?”
Lydia’s thumb pushed Bobtail’s right ear back by accident. A tiny, black imprint reading Manning/Synapse nestled on her skin.
“Manning? Synapse?” she muttered.
Bobtail backed up once she’d heard Lydia say those two words, “Hisssss.”
“Huh?”
The driver clapped his hands together, “Voycheck? C’mon. Move it. Don’t make me ask again.”
She turned to him to find his hand on his waist, brushing his jacket back to reveal the firearm tucked in his belt.
“Are we ready to leave?” he asked.
“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Get inside. I won’t ask again.”
“Okay.”
Lydia turned to face Bobtail a final time, but it had gone.
The milkshake remnants struck across the tarmac ground, bubbling away in the intense sunlight.
Confused, Lydia grabbed the end of her skirt, stood up straight, and ran over to the driver.
“You’re ruining it for everyone else,” the driver said as she stepped onto the coach. “If you keep holding us up we won’t stop again till we reach South Texas.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Just shut up and get in.”
WHUMP.
The coach door slammed shut.
Lydia, and her nineteen fellow travelers, turned to the front of the coach and waited for the driver to speak.
“Okay, citizens. Listen up.”
He pulled the metal barricade across the width of coach and locked it into place, sealing off any potential contact with the driver’s area.
“We’re a little over ten miles from the Manning. When we get there, I want everyone to shut up and not draw attention to yourselves. It’s very likely the Grand Canyon State will want to perform a routine check. If you have any contraband on you, let me know now.”
The passengers shook their heads. Most only had a small bag containing essential travel items, and certainly nothing illegal.
Lydia turned to her co-traveler, a dark gentleman in his forties named Suttle.
“Psst.”
“What is it, Lydia?” he whispered.
“I thought we were going through Arizona?”
“We are,” Suttle said. “But they renamed the state name to Manning a month ago or so.”
The driver started the engine and reversed the coach from its parking spot.
“Why did they do that?”
“The company’s research base is located there, and it’s the number one employer in the state. I guess it was an act of appreciation.”
Lydia didn’t fully comprehend what Suttle had said. For the past two days, they hadn’t said very much to each other. A young girl and a man old enough to be her father wouldn’t have had much in common, save for the odd game of I Spy to while away the boredom of the road.
Suttle had spent much of his time playing with his Individimedia on his left forearm. He’d make the occasional call when the driver wasn’t looking. Lydia found his behavior creepy at best. She desperately wanted to do the same and call her father, but Project Exodus removed her Viddy Media chip back at Tin City.
Ten minutes had passed, but it felt more like an hour to those in the van.
The monotony of the road wandered around the coach like a bad smell. There was only so much sleeping one could do when traveling long distances.
If you were awake, you could stare wistfully at the barren scenery. You might play mental mind games to keep yourself from going mad. I Spy was a frequent go-to game, which often resulted in uninspired answers.
Occasionally, the odd passenger would burst into tears when the reality of their situation hit home.
With all the time in the world to think, the reality hit home often - and hard.
Mothers, brothers, cousins - all separated from those who deserved to remain in the country. Back where they came from. The price of freedom for the great American dream.
“That’s the Manning border up ahead, look,” Suttle whispered to Lydia.
Her eyes ran across the length of his index finger, which pointed to a walled State border checkpoint looming in the distance.
“Manning shares a border with Mexico,” Suttle said with extreme flippancy, “Thank God for that wall they put up, eh?”
“I guess.”
Lydia couldn’t help but notice Suttle winking at another passenger on the opposite side of the coach. The man was of similar build to Lydia’s fellow passenger.
“Umm,” Lydia thought aloud, desperate for answers. “Why is that man looking at you?”
Suttle shrugged his shoulders, “What are you talking about?”
“That man just smiled at you.”
The man in question faced away from her and reached into his jacket.
Suttle leaned into her ear, “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah.”
He placed his hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze, “When I say so, I want you to get under the seat and cover your head. Okay?”
A wave of anxiety socked her in the gut, but failed to register in her face, “Uh, wh-why?”
“Trust me.”
The gray IRI van drove at speed along Interstate Ten and passed the last junction before, making its inexorable three mile journey to the Manning State Line.
WVHOOOM.
The vehicle whizzed under a bridge with “Misfits Out!” daubed in graffiti on the brickwork.
It was the first thing the driver of the second IRI van saw as he joined the freeway.
“Ugh,” he said as he spun the wheel and spoke into his microphone. “Really? IRI-One, come in.”
“This is IRI-One, receiving.”
“You seen that graffiti on the bridge?”
“No, IRI-Two, I didn’t see that. What did it say?”
“Misfits Out.”
“Well, they’re not wrong,” the driver of the first coach said. “We’re approaching Manning, now. I suggest you have each of the passenger’s documentation ready for verification.”
“Understood, IRI-One,” the driver said and flicked a switch on his dashboard, “Okay, citizens. Listen up.”
The passengers on the second coach looked over the headrests of the seats in front of them.
“We’re approaching the border to the glorious state of Manning. I want your documentation presented on your Viddy Media, please.”
The passengers obliged the instruction and reached into their pockets.
The driver looked over his shoulder to find something strange catching his eye from the back of the first van riding alongside them.
Something white and fluffy clung to the tailpipe, trying to keep its balance.
“Umm, IRI-One?” the driver asked. “It seems you have an extra passenger.”
Lydia clutched her document and was surprised to see that Suttle hadn’t attempted to take out his own papers.
She gripped the back of the headrest and squinted at the driver speaking to someone via his microphone.
“The driver seems in a hurry.”
Suttle said as he reached into his jacket pocket. “Just stay seated. Remember what I said?”
“Yes, stay down and trust you.”
“Precisely. We’re nearly there.”
The coach slowed down as it approached the walled barricade.
An armed border official waved at the coach to join the first of two lanes.
“Over here,” he said, keeping a grip on his rifle.
A creepy shadow formed over the windows as IRI-One rolled to a complete stop under the underpass inside the thirty-foot-high wall.
The armed border official approached the vehicle and tapped the barrel of his machine gun against the window.
“Papers, please.”
&nb
sp; “Sure,” the driver said and passed his document to the official. “IRI-One.”
“Point of origin?”
“Tin City, Alaska.”
“Ha. Scum City, more like,” the border official said as he scanned the papers. “Final destination?”
The driver feigned a knowing chuckle and tried to lighten the mood, “South Texas. Yeah, we got some bottom-feeders back here trying to repatriate themselves against policy.”
The official looked up from the papers and grinned, evilly, “Yeah. Happens more often than you’d think.”
“If you ask me, we should just drive the damn thing off a cliff and be rid of them.”
The driver looked into his rear view mirror and saw Suttle walk up the aisle with his hand in his jacket.
“Hey, what are you doing? Citizen?” the driver yelled, as both he and the official watched Suttle approach the front of the van.
Lydia lowered her head and shut her eyes, remembering the instruction the stranger had given her moments ago.
“IRI-One?” the driver of the second coach’s voice whirled through the headset, “What’s going on?”
Suttle pulled out a handgun and buried the end of the barrel into the driver’s temple.
“Get down.”
The driver yelped and buried his head between his knees, “P-Please, don’t shoot m-me.”
“Shut up and stay down,” Suttle turned to his friend and nodded, “Okay, now.”
His friend removed a shotgun from his jacket and blasted the border official in the chest, killing him instantly. He wasted no time in reloading and addressing the passengers.
TCH-CLUCK.
“That’s it,” he yelled. “Now.”
Lydia’s eyes widened as she watched all nineteen passengers sprang to their feet and pull out their guns from their jackets.
“What the—?”
WHUD.
The door to the IRI-One sprung open and released the passengers into the underpass.
Suttle grabbed the back of the driver’s collar and hoisted him to his feet. “Get out.”
“Wh-what are you d-doing?”
“I said get out.”
The nineteen passengers aimed their guns at the six armed officials outside the border control booth.
Suttle pushed the driver down the steps and glanced over at Lydia.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to duck. It went smoother than we thought. Now, follow my friend.”
“Hey, you,” the girl with the pink shades screamed at the six officials. “Get on the floor. Do it.”
Frantic, the men held up their hands and dropped to their knees.
The first official nodded at his dead colleague on the verge of the road. “You’ll never get away with his. Screwing with the IRI. You’re all dead—”
“—I don’t remember asking you for your opinion, asshole,” the woman screamed and cocked her gun. “Wanna say that again? Huh?”
“N-No.”
“Then shut your damn face and start pleading for your life.”
Several headlights shone from the opposite end of the tunnel.
The woman lifted her left forearm to her face and spoke into her Viddy Media ink, “They’re here.”
Lydia hopped out of the coach, scared for her life. She turned to Suttle’s friend in haste, “Who are you? What’s going on?”
“Call me Blanchard, kiddo. We’re the good guys.”
“The good guys?”
She glanced at IRI-Two and saw the driver jump out of the coach.
Suttle stormed over to the man and swung his gun in his face, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get back in the damn van.”
BANG.
He fired a warning shot at the driver’s feet. Bits of cement kicked up, encouraging the frightened man back into the coach.
“Okay, okay.”
“Stay in the coach. If you leave again I’ll blow your kneecaps off.”
“Yes, y-yes,” the driver stammered with fear.
Suttle reloaded and aimed his shot gun at the windshield. “Start the engine. Everyone else, get off the coach.”
The passengers obliged Suttle’s instruction and filtered through the opened door, one by one.
“Why are you doing this?”
“You can make your own way home,” Suttle said. “I’m not going to shoot you. We need this vehicle free.”
Blanchard joined Amelia, the girl with the pink shades, “How are our friends holding up?”
“They’re surprisingly accommodating, actually,” she said in her Russian accent. “Look at them, all begging for their lives.”
Blanchard held his forearm to his mouth, “Suttle, man. The units are arriving. We need to wrap this up.”
“I know, I know,” came the response. “Clear a path for the second coach.”
“Understood.”
Blanchard lowered his arm and aimed his gun at the surrendering officials.
“You guys. Get on that coach behind me.”
The first official stammered with fear, “Wh-what?”
BANG.
Another warning shot up at the underpass. Another opportunity to get killed.
Blanchard’s refusal to accept any stupidity was clear. He wanted the officials on their feet and into the vacated IRI-Two coach.
“Get in the damn vehicle, now.”
The armed passengers shuffled back and allowed the six unarmed officials to walk to the second coach.
Suttle ushered each of the officials onto the coach with the aid of his gun, “That’s right, assholes. Make yourselves useful for a change and get in.”
“We’ll find you,” the second guard said. “You might escape, but we’ll find you.”
Suttle scowled at the man as he made his way onto the second coach, “If you do, just know we’re aiming our weapons at you. Now, shut up and get in.”
He slammed the sixth guard around the face with the butt of his gun - a subtle nudge of encouragement for him to get onto the coach.
“Move it.”
“You just signed your own death warrant.”
“Oh, you have no idea just how true that is.”
Suttle booted the man in the back and forced him up the stairs. He turned his gun to the driver and took three steps back.
“On my command you will drive the coach through the tunnel and make your way to the south Texas border. Do you understand what I’ve just said?”
The driver nodded, hoping he wouldn’t get a bullet in the face.
“Good, now close the door. And keep these bastards inside.”
Suttle’s voice crept out from the pinpricks in Blanchard’s wrist, “You there?”
“Yeah. A few feet away.”
The armed Misfit passengers aimed their guns at the three IRI vehicles making their way from the opposite end of the tunnel.
One was blue, the second was gray, and the third was orange.
“Who are they?”
Amelia stepped beside the girl and pinched the rim of her pink shades, “Our friends, sweetie.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, look,” Amelia nodded at the first blue van.
Both the IRI and USARIC logo adorned the side of the vehicle, underneath ten side windows containing at least thirty Misfits.
“Are they being taken to Tin City?”
“Not anymore, little girl,” Amelia said. “They’re staying right here where they belong. In the good ol’ US of A.”
Suttle and the armed citizens aimed the guns at the windshield of the first van, “Hey, you. Stop.”
SCREEECCCHH.
The first van swerved into the tunnel’s conclave and locked its tires.
Suttle rammed the butt of his gun on the door, “Open up. Do it now.”
The petrified driver yanked the lever on the dashboard and opened the door.
“Everyone out,” Suttle hollered at the passengers, much to their utter astonishment. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying where you are.�
�
“Suttle?” Amelia asked.
“What is it?”
A flurry of freed Misfits burst into tears, thankful that they’d be rescued.
But at what price?
Lydia watched as Blanchard and the rest of the team hauled over the second and third van and ordered the drivers to release the Misfit passengers.
“Thank you, thank you,” a young Russian woman said as she hugged Lydia - the only savior without a weapon.
“Umm, you’re welcome? I guess?”
“I need to get back home to my family,” the woman said. “I can’t be without them. My husband is sick and my child can’t take care of him.”
The armed Misfits waved the freed passengers out of all three vans. One by one, they made their way to the side verge outside the tunnel’s entrance.
“Everyone, wait over there.”
Suttle threatened the three van drivers, “Okay, you three. Get out.”
Petrified, each driver hopped out of their vans with their hands above their hands.
The first van driver saw what looked like an army of armed Misfits staging a coup.
“My God. What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Get in IRI-Two over there. With your little friends, asshole,” Suttle said and marched the second and third driver along.
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”
Lydia held her breath and felt her heart thump against her ribcage.
“Hey, girl,” Amelia asked in her Russian accent. “What is your name?”
“Lydia.”
“Huh. You’re Roman Voycheck’s daughter, right?”
Lydia’s eyelids stretched up to her forehead with shock. The news was astonishing to her.
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“He’s a good man, Lydia.”
Amelia turned to the army of Misfits and clapped her hands.
“Hey, everyone. This is Lydia, Roman’s kid.”
The thirty-strong army of Misfits whooped and hollered and waved their firearms in the air with approval.
“Wow.”
Lydia didn’t have time to savor the adulation for long. She felt something press against the side of her shin and purr.
“Huh?”
A withered, malnourished creature looked up at her with its yellowy eyes.
Star Cat Forever: A Science Fiction & Fantasy Adventure (The Star Cat Series - Book 6) Page 4
